


It Will Tear Us Apart

by hariboo



Category: Merlin BBC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/pseuds/hariboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not love, for love is dangerous creature that not even magic can control</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Tear Us Apart

It is not love, for love is a dangerous creature that not even magic can control.

**

It is not love that brings him to her bed in a mess of sweaty limbs, sharp angles, and golden eyes. It is not love that has her opening her bed, mind, legs, but not heart, to him. It is fascination, intrigue, power -- it's all the thing she despises about court, but between them it turns into something different. It becomes something that they learned they cannot contain between them. Into something deeper, darker, natural and unnatural all at the same time. The strings of magic pull tightly between them even outside her bed, but it is only when they are alone, naked and free, that they allow themselves to let go of the control they must exert in daily life. Magic still makes many nervous, even now that the bans have been lifted. _They_ — together, apart, it does not matter — make many nervous.

He sleeps so easily, she notices with slight envy, his breath slipping through her hair like a warm breeze, the bones in his shoulder blades protruding out like half finished angel wings from his back. Her own thoughts bring an amused smile to her face, because he is as much of an angel as she. He is sharp, sharper than most think, but she _knows_. Her finger trails his lines, moving up across his shoulder to his neck and almost instinctively she follows the curve of his ear and cheekbones. It is then she notices he is awake; his hazy, clever eyes still stirring with magic looking at her.

She inhales gently through her nose at what she sees in them.

He turns, his body curving to face her, long fingers grazing up her thigh to find rest at the curve of her hips. His thumb presses against the fine bone there and his smile is small.

"What did you dream this night?" He knows better than to ask what is wrong. Her dreams are never easy, they're never gentle. Always half-truths and mist.

She cannot lie to him. Not here. "I saw life and death, spinning around us like a sick wind. I saw our home falling apart."

Her fingers are still by his cheekbones, her thumbnail gently pressing against the pale skin and she wonders if she presses hard enough, will it bleed? His fingers tighten on her hip — she wonders if he knows her thoughts — and the action brings her eyes to his. There is worry there, but sadly, that is not new. She is only sorry she is the one to bring it tonight. They are so young to have such looks in their eyes.

"How?" He whispers, voice full of magic, she thinks.

"Us." She knows hers is no different.

He's never used his magic against her, but it is not a guarantee he never will. She cannot guarantee it either.

Her dreams have always been cryptic, but she's learned to see past what the fear and shadows hide from her to the core of the meaning. For months she's been dreaming of heartache and death, of life and love, of pain, of hope, of light. Of darkness. She's been slowly unravelling the thread of her subconscious and she's found the answer.

It's them. All of them. In their love, in their hate, their jealously, their joy. Their precious and damned humanity. She closes her eyes, not wanting to see, knowing it is impossible _not to_ and feels his lips brush against hers. The touch is light. He always touches her lightly -- at first, a leftover instinctual reactions from his many years seeing her as nobility instead of just _Morgana_, but it never lasts too long, their lust and the call of their powers push them past light touches easily -- tonight though he doesn't press further. Yet. His lips rest on hers and she can feel his hands move to cup her cheeks. Thumbs press against her eyelids, gently, and she sighs.

"How?" He asks again.

She still cannot lie. "We are not perfect." Is the simple answer, it's also the truth. "We are creatures of chaos, and we cannot stop it."

His thumbs are gently, sweeping past her eyes to her temple, fingers moving into her hair and he is still so close.

"Look at me, Morgana."

She does.

He is beautiful and sad, he is magic and death. She wonders how she looks in his eyes. They are the kingdoms twin mages, as the people call them. Dark and pale, young and old, sharp and gentle. Sometimes she wonders if it is why they came together. Their magic, their burdens.

"You can't save us, Merlin."

"I can try." He promises. His promise is a scythe. And for all the reasons she cannot, should not, love him for it, she does, except it's not love that will keep them together. Love will not keep Camelot not matter how many promises Merlin makes.

"You will." She presses her lips against his, gently, like he had done. Her forehead rests against his, his body shifting against her, pulling her closer.

It is her promise he needs. The promise of a Seer. So she kisses him again. "You will try."

His hands tilt her head back, fingers grazing her neck and he opens his mouth to swallow in her words. Their kisses have always crackled with power and this is no different, as the kiss deepens he sucks on her bottom lip, teeth grazing _just barely_, his teasing nature always shining through in these moments. She hisses and bites back, her tongue soothes the action almost immediately, working her way into his mouth.

Their eyes are still open. In the dark shadows of her chambers they never look away from each other. To much time is spent looking away as they both try to keep Camelot together.

Their breath is coming in heavily and Morgana feels the heat coiling in her belly.

Merlin holds her, his right hand trailing back down her body, pressing at her navel where the muscles are tense and then continues south. His eyes flash gold when he pushes his finger insider her and his smile when she has to detach from his lips to moan reminds her of the early days. It's a smile not seen often anymore.

"Cheek." She smirks, feeling his finger and power push inside her. But it feels so good she can only groan when he pushes the second finger in.

He fingers her slowly with long strokes that drive her mad. He curls, swirls, scissors his fingers, the heel of his hand pressing on her clitoris and she arches her back at the third finger. She can feel the trickle of power he's using to stimulate her in a way only magic can and pushes back with her own. Licking her lips she allows her magic to mimic the action against his.

The result moan -- his, low and choked -- makes _her_ smile and _oh_she can see it in his eyes. This is what he was looking for. Her smile. It warms something inside her that doesn't have to do with his finger against her folds, and she cups his face with her pale hands, grazing her teeth against his jaw, "_Merlin_." She whispers, thinking, _Emrys_.

She was not lying when she told him he would try to save them, but she did not tell him it would be his demise. She cannot loose him. She does not _want_ to lose him and the thought spurs her actions. Her hands curl on his thin but sturdy shoulders and rolls her hips against his hand. Her thigh pushes against his erection, thick and warm against her skin, and she lets her power mingle freely with his.

The sighs escape them both, as they always do. This feeling of freedom, of being able to _feel_ magic in a way many could never dream churns between them. Shrouds them.

He's still looking at her with _blue-gold-blue-gold_ eyes and she grips the wrist of the hand inside her. She follows his fingers in and twines them with her own, feeling her heat with him, before pulling out. His breath is ragged as her own and she gently rolls them, straddling him.

Always quicker than most give him credit for, Merlin grips himself and guides himself into position. Morgana does not look away from his eyes and lowers herself onto him until their hipbones, fine and fragile, click together like a puzzle. Her mouth falls open a fraction of an inch at the feeling of him inside her and Merlin takes the invitation, lips covering hers, his tongue slow and wet against hers, his hips mimicking the action.

Morgana can feel the power building up inside her. She pushes her and Merlin's joined hands down by his head, her other hand holding her up as she rides him slowly. Merlin's left hand is leaving finger shaped bruises on her hips with the grip he holds her in, but she does not mind, the bruises he leaves on her skin will fade— they always do — unlike the bruises they will leave on each others hearts, which will threaten to break them. She can allow him this temporary mark.

He must see something in her eyes because he lets go of her hip and raises his hand to her cheek once again.

"Morgana, fey?" His voice is thick with lust, power, and what they cannot feel, and it hits her deep in her heart.

She kisses him, eyes closing afraid of what her words will bring, "I wish you did not love me." Spoken so quietly she would think he wouldn't hear her if he was not surrounding her like he was. If their minds weren't in sync.

He stops inside her, _look_, and her eyes open once again. "I wish I did not love you either, and I wish you could love me without fear." It is a complicated answer, it's also the truth.

Morgana wants to cry, but she hasn't in years. Instead she shifts and cups his face, bringing him up to her. He follows. She holds him there for a minute that feels too long and too short, their powers swirling around them. In them.

"One day I will." She does not lie.

The look in his eyes is worth it, the kiss he drops on her lips is worth it, as is the sharp movement of his body inside her. As if driven by a permission she wasn't sure he had been waiting for, by their joined powers, which are pushing and feeding into each with a freedom they've never experienced before, Merlin makes loves to her like she's dreamt in moments where fate and conscience leave her alone. He wraps his arms around her back, fingers trailing the span of pale skin available to him. His fingers skimming up to her neck and down to her buttocks. Holding her tenderly while he thrusts inside her, his kiss brutal against her lips.

Her fingers dig into his shoulder as her chest presses against his, flattening her breasts as she grips him tightly.

Merlin's hips are snapping almost violently and she's pushing back just as desperate. The orgasm hits them both at the same time, the wave of power between them so intense that Morgana feels time shift for brief second, her head snapping back, his fingers tangling in her dark strands.

They collapse together on her bed, their sweat sticking them to each other, and Merlin does not pull out right away. He stays nestled in her as their breath returns gradually to them, his breath still still by her neck and hair. He doesn't move until she is almost asleep on his wiry chest, and then she feels him slip out, rolling them to their sides in the process. He adjusts them into positions much like they began the night in, his lips brushing her forehead, a quick spell cleaning them wrapped in a kiss.

Morgana thinks hazily on what she told him -- that she will love him one day without fear, it was true, she's seen it. But it wasn't all.

What she didn't tell him what on that same day Death comes.

Love comes with a price, the price is Camelot. It is not one that either of them are willing to pay.

**

Magic cannot always save the day.


End file.
